Connections
by joy4957
Summary: A trip down memory lane brings a startling revelation to Mark and the Judge.


The day, though typically beautiful, didn't start out so well. Neither Hardcastle nor Mark had slept well the night before, having held a long and ultimately fruitless stakeout on one of Hardcastle's targets (who, as it turned out, Frank finally informed them, was out of state at the time, a fact that Mark had repeatedly mentioned to the Judge on their way back home). Having spent many hours together in the tight quarters of the Coyote for apparently no good reason, frustrated and hungry, and not returning to the estate until the early morning hours, both were edgy and short-tempered in addition to being tired. They had skipped their morning basketball routine and sniped at each other through breakfast. Mark left the kitchen with an emphatic closing of the front door, and Hardcastle thought he was going to start working on the neglected lawn. But after 10 minutes he realized that he was not hearing the sound of the lawn mower. He stood and peered out the window, but no McCormick was in sight. His sleep-deprived brain was not up to tolerating this behavior.

"McCormick!" Hardcastle bellowed, opening the door to the Gatehouse. He found Mark sitting on the couch, an open box on the table in front of him, his curly head bent as he rummaged through it.

"Yeah?" Mark answered, not interrupting his mission.

"What are you doing here?" Hardcastle demanded impatiently. "The lawn isn't going to mow itself, ya know!"

Mark looked up, totally unruffled, his eyes thoughtful. "I know. I'll be out there shortly."

His quiet reply brought Hardcastle up, and his tone was softer as Milt dropped into the chair beside the couch and said, "What are you looking at?"

Mark shrugged. "I was looking for something and came across this box, which I forgot about. Haven't looked through it in a long time. It just brings back lots of memories …" His voice drifted off and he looked down at the object in his hand, a large seashell with what looked like something painted on it.

"What's that?" Milt asked softly.

Mark smiled. "A happy piece of my past," he answered. He settled back on the sofa, continuing, "This came from the Jersey shore, when I was a kid. Fun place to grow up." He cocked his head and looked at Milt. "You ever been there?"

Hardcastle nodded. "Yeah, I took the family there once – oh, probably about 20 years or so ago. I was still a cop back then and attended a seminar there. Nancy and Tommy wanted to come, too. I didn't really get it; I mean, we already lived by the ocean, and I figured why fly across the country to see another one? But they wanted to go, and Nancy said things were different on the East Coast so they needed to experience it. And I have to say that the boardwalk and everything _was_ different than anything we have here. Tommy had a blast." He looked at Mark, who was gazing down at the seashell, a faint smile on his lips. "So what's so special about that seashell?"

Mark sighed, his eyes growing distant. "Well, you have to go back a ways, to when I was 9 years old. Sonny was long gone, and my mom worked long hours, so I had a lot of time to myself. She'd let me go to the beach during the day, but only if I promised not to actually go in the water since I was alone. Anyway, on this particular day …"

_(Flashback)_

Nine-year-old Mark, his sunlightened hair glinting in the bright sunshine, ran along the beach, enjoying the feel of the fine, soft sand under his feet. It was a cloudless day, and the restless ocean glittered with thousands of sparkling diamonds. The shrill cry of seagulls gliding on the salty air mingled with the constant roar of the incoming waves. It was not yet mid-morning, but the beach already had a good number of people laying claim to their area of sand. A few hardy souls were braving the ocean; being early summer, the water was still pretty cold.

Mark relished the ticklish feel of the rushing water as he stood just where the waves came in, the water splashing almost to his knees at times, the sun warm on his face. As he stood there, a boy, probably about 14, came up beside him. Tall, with dark hair and a generous sprinkling of freckles across his nose, the boy smiled at him amiably.

"Hi!" the boy said to Mark, laughing as a particularly energetic wave came in and practically knocked them both off their feet.

"Hi," Mark returned, glad for some company.

After a few minutes standing in the surf, their feet getting buried in the shifting sand, the boy said, "Well, I guess I should introduce myself. You can call me TJ."

"Hi, TJ," Mark said with a smile. "I'm Mark."

"Do you live around here?" TJ asked.

Mark shrugged. "Yeah."

"Oh, must be nice. Well, I'm here on vacation. Haven't been here before and I don't know anyone. There sure are a lot of things to do! We're heading home tomorrow and I wish we could stay longer." He shot a look at Mark. "Maybe we can play some games on the boardwalk a little later. And there's a wicked roller coaster I'd like to check out, too, if you're up to it."

"Yeah, I'd like that!" Mark agreed enthusiastically. As they chatted, they started walking down the beach. Suddenly Mark stopped with a cry of pain. He dropped to the sand, holding his right foot, rocking slightly.

"Mark, what is it?" TJ cried.

"I stepped on something." Mark looked at his foot, finding a smear of blood. A piece of glass from a broken beer bottle was stuck in the bottom of his foot. "Hurts …" he whimpered.

"Okay, just stay still. Don't move! I'm gonna get my mom!" TJ said, giving a quick pat on Mark's back and racing off.

A couple minutes later TJ returned with a woman, presumably his mother. She was in her 40's, dark haired and pleasant looking, a look of concern on her face. She bent over Mark, pushing her sunglasses up on her head, saying kindly, "Hi, Mark, I'm TJ's mom and I'm going to help you. Can I get a look at your foot?"

Mark nodded and reluctantly let go of his throbbing foot, trembling a bit. The woman gently examined it, then smiled at him. "It's not too bad," she said soothingly, turning to TJ. "Dear, please hand me the first aid kit. Also, run and get me a cup of clean water."

The woman proceeded to carefully remove the small piece of glass and then rinse the blood and sand from Mark's foot with the water that TJ provided. The bleeding had stopped, and the cut, while fairly deep, didn't appear too bad. She applied some ointment to the cut and then securely wrapped the foot in a generous amount of gauze, taping it down firmly, all the while murmuring soothing words to Mark. For his part, Mark, although still hurting, relaxed a bit, feeling some relief when the foot was finally wrapped and protected.

The woman sat back and squeezed Mark's arm. "Okay, then, Mark, I think you're all set. I suggest you put some shoes on and maybe stay off the foot for a little just to give it some rest. Is your mother around? I can explain what happened."

Mark shook his head. "N-no, she's working. But it's okay, I feel a lot better now. Thanks a lot."

She gave him a warm smile. "Happy to help. Why don't you sit with TJ and me for a while? I'm sure he would like to have someone to play with."

"Mom!" TJ groaned, rolling his eyes. "I'm too old to 'play with' kids!"

"Ah, I meant, someone to have some fun with," his mother amended, her lips twitching. Teenagers!

"Better," TJ acknowledged with his own grin. He turned to Mark. "Come on back with us and we'll find something fun to do."

"I'd like that," Mark said, pushing himself to his feet with the help of his new friend. They slowly made their way back to their blanket. After seeing how many boats they could spot on the horizon (they found 5) and counting the number of people they saw who were already getting a bad sunburn (4), TJ pulled out a small paint set and pointed at a collection of seashells that were by the blanket.

"Hey, Mark, I picked up some shells and thought I'd paint on them. Wanna do it too?"

"Sure!" Mark agreed happily. He'd never painted a seashell – never even thought of doing so, but it sounded like fun.

For the next hour he and TJ chatted and painted. TJ seemed pretty talented, coming up with some amazing designs for his shells. Mark was surprised when TJ handed him a seashell decorated with small brightly colored sailboats and "Mark, summer of '62" written on it.

The rest of the afternoon passed quickly, and they ate an early dinner on the boardwalk, followed by enormous soft serve ice cream cones. Mark and TJ then played some miniature golf and rode that "wicked" roller coaster as well as a few other rides before Mark reluctantly parted ways with them and returned home. It was the best day that he could remember having in a long time …

_(end of flashback)_

Mark blinked, returning to the present. "And that's where I got this," he waved the seashell, lightly running his finger over the faded but still legible paint.

Hardcastle smiled indulgently. "Sounds like a great day, even with the injury."

"It was," Mark assured him. "Wish I'd gotten the kid's name and kept in touch with him. I never saw him after that day, and –" he stopped suddenly and began rifling through the box. "Wait a minute! I forgot, but I think his mom took a photo of us on the beach!" After a minute he gave a cry of satisfaction and pulled out a slightly bent polaroid. He stared at it happily. "Great! He's just like I remembered. Aww, man, look how little I look!"

Hardcastle shook his head with a laugh. "Well, you were only 9. Here, let me see."

Mark obligingly handed over the photo. Hardcastle looked at it and then gave a sharp gasp, his eyes widening. Mark looked at him in alarm. "Judge? What's wrong? Are you all right?"

"I-I …" Hardcastle drew a deep breath, still staring at the photo in his slightly shaking hand. He raised his eyes to meet Mark's, then managed to choke out, "That's Tommy!"

"Tommy? You mean, your Tommy?" Mark asked, stunned. "How …?"

"This must have been during the trip that we took to Jersey. I didn't know …"

"But he called himself TJ!"

Hardcastle shook his head, a wistful smile on his face. "He was a teenager and felt that Tommy was too childish, so that summer he called himself TJ, for Thomas James, and asked us to do the same. Didn't last long. His friends all knew him as Tommy, and his mother and I kept forgetting, so he gave up. I hadn't thought about that in a long time …"

Mark regarded him with some awe. "Wow, so I met Tommy and Nancy long before I encountered you … I mean, what are the odds?"

"Must be pretty long odds," Hardcastle agreed, "but I'm glad you got to meet them." He cleared his throat and looked away. "Yeah, and I'm glad they got to meet you, too."

"They were both very nice people," Mark said softly. "You had a wonderful family. I wish I could have gotten to spend more time with them. I was pretty lonely most of the time, and they made me feel ..." he hesitated, then added, a little shyly, "like one of the family. That day was very special to me."

"And I'm sure it was to them, too," Hardcastle said gruffly, blinking at the sudden moisture that misted his eyes. "They were lucky as well to meet ... another part of our family that day."

They looked at each other for a long moment, silent words flowing between them. They both knew they had always had a connection, although it was never discussed. It was amazing to learn that the connection was even stronger than they'd realized.

Both men slept very well that night.


End file.
